


Entice

by Dissonencia



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Mermaids, Partial Nudity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dissonencia/pseuds/Dissonencia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was always a standard warning to never wallow where mermaids gather. But Kurosaki Ichigo, a navy official, did not heed the warning and suffered the consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. She

 

**…** **o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Is he dying?

_Too slow._

Or he just died.

_Much better._

But then…

Neither of the two felt right. If it's the former, there is absolutely no reason to drag his death at agonizing length. If it's the latter, then why is it that he can still  _feel_  the freezing sea breeze and the wound on his chest still _hurt_?

He seemed to be trudging aimlessly along the blurred line between life and death.

_It's maddening._

The water had calmed. The big tides are no more. The horrible  _inhumane_  screeches and terror filled screams no longer resonate. It was quiet and unbelievably serene  _like_  nothing horrible happened. The wreckage left nothing but a vast, miserable, and silent water  _graveyard_.

It was hunting, eerily quiet.

All that was left is the  _popping_  sound of water clashing in the sides of his floating wood. Somehow, hearing it was enough to  _confirm_  that he's not dead.

His bloodied eyes snapped open and met the deep blackness of the night with the moon as the only source of light. He grunted and felt his whole body sting; every single fresh wound on his body immersed in salt water ached. He's freezing, shaky and his lips were chapped, he moved his mouth and felt a sharp, fleeting pain as his lower lip bled. He mentally cursed and tried to move his limbs,  _great_ , they are  _moving_ , still responding to his command.

 _Damn_ , he really is alive.

He lifted his head a bit, strained his back muscles and tried to look around him, but he saw nothing; nothing but the vast dark ocean. Tinge of small hope, but was profoundly disappointed when he saw how Nature started cleaning its crime. He strained harder, squinted harder, maybe,  _just maybe_ , there really is someone alive. Maybe he's just missing it out with the amount of depressing cloud both figuratively and literally.

But the longer he stayed in that gauche position the more the kinked muscles in his neck and back hurt. He sat up with his elbows to try to not put too much pressure on his neck and once again, looked around him but this time, he had a better vision.

All the signs of a lethal shipwreck started disappearing one by one, destroyed by an  _attack_  of something  _dangerous_ and  _mythical_. The ship sunk, only bits of wood stayed drifting. All things it carried buried in the sea, lost forever.

As for the passengers –his crew, they had a kind of fate  _worse_  than the ship itself. A cheerless leer appeared in his face, the ship might be even considered  _lucky_ compared to what happened to them.  _Unlike its passengers, the ship wasn't tore open and swallowed_. True, bits of it were destroyed but the large vessel could rest in peace, forever preserved in the bottom of the sea, pretty much  _whole_. But the passengers -quite literally- were tore off their flesh, their humans bones sucked and their blood drank. He found it extremely vicious. He watched as screams died halfway in their throats as the monsters bit their necks, ripped off their heads and feast on the fresh human flesh. And  _still_  have that sickeningly enchanting smile plastered in their faces.

Seeing their faces flashed in his mind's eye, brought him not so very long ago memories, memories on how it happened.

It was minutes after midnight when a sudden, wild jolt woke him. He heard screaming and screeches, horrid, absolutely  _nasty_  sound. His eyes snapped open in alarming comprehension, he jumped off his bed, snatched his sword and forgone thicker clothing. The cold water hit his face and soaked his body as he knocked the double doors that lead to the deck.

Donned only in thin fabric and sword at hand, he raced to the dock where hell greeted him. Killer tempest and powerful waves, yes,  _but no visible attacker_. No distant cannon trajectories, they were completely blinded. It was a scary story leafed out straight from a story book. One second assessment was all that he needed. One look at the angry waves, storm, screeches and the overall chaos, Kurosaki sprung into action. He shouted orders amidst the chaotic deck, his crew looked at him and for the briefest of seconds, he saw a tinge of hope etched in their faces.

This drove him to know more about what is going on, what's attacking him and what motive.  _Pirates, perhaps_? It would explain their characteristic style of attacking under such weather condition but it won't explain the brief and outlying  _nasty, screeching_  voice and more importantly:

_Where the hell were they hiding_ _?_

Ichigo raced to the side of the deck and just as he reached the rails, something shook the ship so strong that he fell to the wood floor just in time to hear one of his crew shout something amidst the loud panic and heavy rain:  _'the keel! Sumthin's crackin' it open_!' the keel! He thought in panic. Of course, the ship would  _sink_  if something happened to the keel,  _it's_ _the very base_ , and beneath its thick wood is the strong sea currents. Ichigo scrambled up to his feet and again, had a split second debate on whether to fight them in the ship –further compromising them- or in the water, and that would be exceedingly difficult. But then he thought,  _damn it_! Suppressing the destruction of the keel must be the priority. He raced to the side to try and jump to the water. He gave them silent orders to stay alive no matter what and preserve the ship so they could go home safely. He gave one surveying look to his crewmates as if promising them of something, then jumped to the water.

He expected to see men trying to break apart the ship using metal mason but  _nothing_

He saw a flash, a split second flash like something is speeding fast him. And it didn't help that the water was so dark there was really nothing to see.

Nothing, there was really no visible attacker.  _Nothing_.

And then he saw an unmistakable silhouette of a caudal fin speeding fast below him.

And just as when realization hit: just in time to see what kind of  _monster_  he was dealing with, something flashed in time just as a great wave toppled their ship.

He saw a barrage of metallic flashes, his crew being  _picked_  upon, before he could fully form the words in his head, he lost consciousness.

The devastation left not a single soul alive, except him. He, who was waiting to be devoured by the deep blackness of the sea.

Pathetic as it may be, he did not know exactly he survived.

No longer cared of what dangers lurked thousand miles below him. He lay motionless over the piece of chalet wood, afloat in the middle of nowhere, staring at the starless night, and thinking about the two hundred men that he had bought along in his personal voyage,  _regretting_  it.

He was a complete failure.

He couldn't shake it off. The guilt and remorse crushed him from the inside. Now he held two hundreds souls in his conscience. What about their families? Life behind? Children?

He had failed to protect his loyal crew.

He forced himself to relax over the piece of wood, anxiety is over. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. This might be even over sooner than what he could hope for.

Not returning at all was better than returning alive  _alone_.

The lore was largely known and it was always a standard warning to never wallow where  _mermaids_  gather. It was his fatal fault that he did not heed the warning. It had happened an hour ago yet it is still very much… _unreal_.

He heard the stories. They say that mermaids were bad omen, fearsome beasts that desire human-flesh. Fiends that tear humans apart, gnashed their teeth, and savor the soft flesh –all the while, beautiful. Creatures both loved and hated. Some claimed to have seen the underwater graveyard where mermaids leave  _human carcasses_  or parts they didn't like  _after meal_. So unsightly. Mermaids lure men –their favorite choice of sustenance _or food_ \- with their beauty, trapped them, drown them or kill them on the spot. A fate that he, a navy official, did not escape.

He's so sure there will be a mermaid upon him in an hour, the smell of his blood so strong, enough to tempt to just about at least one mermaid.  _They weren't known for being so benevolent to leave foods untouched_.

Ichigo tried to avoid movements and ignore the creeping nausea. Lying over a floating wood made his head heavier, dizzy even. He had long discarded his layered clothing, now swathed only in a ripped, very thin, soaked shirt –almost transparent- he had to endure this freezing cold environment along with the bone-crushing guilt in his chest.

 _Maybe_. If he got lucky, this piece of wood might be his final resting place and let the ocean claim his decaying body and  **not**  a hungry monster's stomach.  _Just_   _maybe_.

The gently moving currents stirred his dulling senses.

 _Death must be approaching_.

Then he saw  _her_.

And he knew his wish of dying without monstrous interference has become  _impossible_.

He rose up a little bit, elbows propped. He wanted to see the face of his killer or  _devourer_. His eyes -automatically alert- followed the dark figure circling him. The feel of something moving near him turned the previously dull thump of his heart erratic yet he stayed unmoving in his current position.

She swam around him, soundlessly. The moon was full tonight and he caught sight of her tail; the color of rich,  _dark violet_ , smooth satin with faint  _metallic_  glimmer and thin, lucent membrane that flows around her tail like irregular tendrils. His head turned to the side, following her soundless movements. Her tail is very long, striking, it is scaly burnished and seemed to reflect what little light the moon had beneath the water.

But her face remained elusive. Ichigo, despite of all things occurred hours ago, found himself curious about her. Many men acclaimed their beauty so alluring and the way their tails swim elegantly along the water currents as if one with it is enough to halt one's breathing. Very deceiving.

 _Illusory_. Legends taught him to  _never_  admire  _anything_  about them for it's a lethal trap.

But admire them, one can't help.

Others say it was already a given in their dastardly damning existence. An instant spell casted at the very moment a man set eyes on them. Broken only when a man fall prey and at the verge of dying by their sharp teeth and talons or  _never_ broken at all. Oftentimes, a man can still stay enamored while parts of him are being  _chewed_ , literally. Ichigo tried to suppress sickening thoughts as he wait for her to surface.

He could feel her moving beneath his floating wood, her fingernails grating the wood beneath him, as if waiting a perfect time and position to strike or just simply gauging him, to sense if he's dead already or worth  _eating._ His sword forever lost in the vast sea, no chance of protection.

He may have lost resolve and the hope of surviving but that does not mean he will go down without a fight, she wants his flesh, she will fight him for it.  _At least_ , he had something to bring with him when he cross the afterlife.

He found himself suddenly tensing, anticipating the sudden breakage of his wood plaque but none came and the dark figure continued to swim soundlessly beneath him.

Although he knew he there is little to no chance of him surviving given all the inevitably existing factors that surround him.  _But still_ , he found it not quite repulsive that a man-eating monster lurked  _very_  near him. Or was it death's silent reassurance that he'll soon find peace with his deceased crewmembers.

The currents stopped and he saw her peered up at him from underneath the water surface. Slowly, very slowly, she started to surface; large eyes stared right at him. For the first time in his life and probably the last, he came face to face, eye to eye with a live, mythical sea creature that he so denied existed years back when he was a kid.

She looked like…an ordinary woman swimming at night. No, nothing is out of place in her visage. She was just like an ordinary woman.

For a moment, he thought she'll lunge at him and rip his head instantly, a stunt he had seen repeated several times. He had briefly seen his men snatched by these monsters, their heads torn right on the spot and watched in horror as he saw  _them_  literally devour his crew members. And she's one of them.

He choked on his mouth and before anything else, he accidentally asked the stupidest question he could think of. Or probably the most practical.

"Uh…can you speak?" his own voice, throaty and hoarse. Unsure and anxious.

She blinked twice and didn't answer but leaned closer. The light wave she made lazily hit his floating wood shelter. She put her fingers on the edge of his coppice and stared up at him closely.

He found her eyes too probing and he was overwhelmed against it and he looked down.

Looking down, he saw _nothing_. She absolutely wore nothing to cover what most women thought to be a private part. His eyes and manly impulse instantly drawn to her bare breast and slim waist. His body reacted traitorously, even in the brink of imminent death; he still had the gall to become  _aroused_. Pearly white skin illuminated by the moonlight, deep indigo eyes, long black hair tied with a very loose braid that some strands went loose and framed her face. Her whole braid was kept on one side, exposing her modest,  _perky_ , feminine curves.

Just her pale skin, braid and tails, she was plain but raw, alive but fabled, cold and staccato.

His eyes openly traveled her bare body shamelessly and she seemed fine with it. Nudity is not an issue. He gulped. It was such a bizarre encounter.

She leaned closer and her eyes continued to probe his face intently, her cool breath fanning his face. She definitely smelt of something _fresh_. Like refreshing see breeze only  _sweeter_.

"Wh-what…?" he whispered as something bubbled up in his chest, was it  _excitement_? If so, what an incongruous feeling in a strange set up.

...or was it just their peculiar capability to stun victims into passive submission working in him?

Her face merely centimeters from his, almost nose to nose and for one wild moment, he thought she will kiss him.

But to his disappointment, she tilted her head and her soft cheeks landed on his angular and sharp ones. Her cold face prickled his face and sent Goosebumps all the way down to his spine.

He could feel her open-mouth breath on his cheek and then to his neck.  _Was she sniffing him?_  His own breathing became ragged and his heart pounded loudly in his ears. The top of her head rested on his shoulder and he had a good view of her tail for observation –not that he'll last long enough to report. Initially, he thought they were just literally half fish and half human glued together, but the human skin around her hips continued with short silver luminous scale turning into an intense, dark violet shade until her very caudal fin.

…and judging the way her caudal fin splashes in and out of water, she must be enjoying this.

Suddenly, he froze; he could feel her lips on his neck. Like butterfly wings gently tickling his skin.

Then he thought: what could possibly stop her from biting his neck off now that she's perfectly positioned to do so?

"Your sisters were here hours ago, they killed my crewmates…" he murmured against the side of her head, his voice extremely husky. Not sure if they hold some kind of camaraderie like humans do. And he doesn't know if she could understand him, he is yet to hear any sound from her. What would it be like? Something entirely different or like those mermaids he witnessed hours ago, beautiful appearance in stark contrast to their screeching, horrid voices befitting to their  _monstrous_  ways.

Ever so lightly, he felt something  _very_  sharp touch his neck. Like a cold knife on top of his skin, not pushing, not grazing just resting. But the very thought of the threatening sharp teeth resting on his neck made him embrace the fact that he will die tonight.

Despite the constriction in his throat, he said. "… _are you going to do the same_ …?" knowing very well the answer.

She must have sensed his uneasiness and she slowly lifted her head and stared at him eye to eye, again. He found it quite… _amusing_  to see her  _frowning_. A non-human sporting a humane expression. Does she understand _some_  human expression?

He looked down and she reached out and her long fingers traced his jaw line. "We are ugly, ugly humans, right?" he said, feeling her fingers soft and slippery against his cheek. Her eyes met his and she  _frowned_  harder, like she's disagreeing with him. How he could understand what she's thinking this easy was alien to him.

What was it? What the  _hell_  was it? What does she see in his face?

What the hell is this thing going behind her human-like eyeballs to her human-like brain? How does she see him? Food? He was confused.

She was curious.

_But then…_

Suddenly, something snapped and he can feel it.

His instinct going unstable in alarm. His logical mind arrived in the same conclusion. His insight tells him the same thing. His fight or flight -but mostly fight- response going berserk. The adrenaline was insane. The survival impulse was at its highest. His internal systems going terribly mad just to preserve itself. Every part of him screamed it: She was danger. She was devastation. She was death.

And he's going to die.

And yet…

…he could not find the strength or even the resolve to push her hand away. Now what happened to the 'not going down without a fight'?

Extreme internal conflict? Yes. But none of the individual turmoil made it physically manifest as he let her fingers caress his chest in vague curiosity with an unfathomable expression. Like nothing's happening, like he's safe, like he's not going to die.

Like he's actually  _enjoying_  it.

And it's too  _fucking_  conflicting.

Breathing became more ragged and beads of cool sweat started trailing his forehead as her finger lingered on his sternum, where his heart directly lies. Would she? Would she split it open and make him watch at the last second of his life while she tore his heart and smile at him one last time before losing his life?

But  _no_ , the mermaid just stared at him

He wanted to get inside her head, past those indigo eyes and see how he looks like to her.

Her face inches from his. He saw it coming but didn't bother to resist. Her dainty palms cupped his face and her eyes too  _enticing_  to look away, a very gentle  _faint_  smile on her pink lips as if to reassure him. He stayed rooted to the spot, unable to break their eye contact. Her hands were too soft to struggle, as light as a feather touch,  _teasing_. He felt his body move towards her; her will or his will, he had no idea. She was moving slowly down back to the sea.

Surprisingly, he wasn't even resisting and her hold on his face wasn't pushing or dragging, rather, it was sensually inviting…

Somehow, he knew exactly what's going to happen to him down there but he didn't feel any fear. In fact, with the rate she was going, so very slow he might even consider it  _agonizing_.

He tasted the metallic danger but he was too  _drugged_  to comply with his instinct and… she was all too  _engaging_. Death was really inevitable.

She was completely immersed in the water, her hands still on his slightly above water face. She kept nudging –no,  _guiding_  him towards her, as  _nudging_  would imply the slightest coercion and he was so sure there was none. His face hit the cold water, head fully immersed. He reached out his hands and attempted to touch her face. The ice cold water stung like miniature pointy, icy knives piercing every pore in his body, but he doesn't care. The abyss behind her vanished along with its horrors as his vision focused only on her. On her enthralling eyes that were as sensual as possible. Then on her full form that was visible underwater, she was even more striking. Her eyes closed then opened with more spark than what he saw above water. She guided him further down to the bottomless sea, her dark underwater world.

He relented.

And finally, the  _last_  survivor of a lethal shipwreck and the commodore disappeared from the face of the earth down to its unfathomable water chasm.

' _Maybe it's a cruel death, not very tidy at all but still…it is-'_

**...…o0O0o…...**

_To be continued_


	2. Under

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

_This._

Uryū Ishida, prim and proper, grim and morbid, steely-eyed and focused.

_That._

That was the look of someone about to announce someone's death sentence.

Uryū Ishida sat motionlessly in his chair. His white-gloved fingers interlocked while his elbows rest firmly on the armrest. His posture was as straight and as proper as ever, a shadow of his family upbringing, whereas the man opposite him, the one behind the desk sat carelessly, his blue coat thrown chaotically across his cluttered desk along with few other items, his gun, sword , and a compass. The only distinguishable item was a beige globe. Beside the globe was the characteristic placement of his dirtied boot-clad legs, crossed and uncouth.

Ishida took measured, shallow breaths while the man in front of him took repetitive sighs of annoyance.

There is uneasiness in the room, palpable and simmering.

The man behind the desk's apparent distaste for interior design showed itself through his choice of fixtures, none had the regal decadence the royal court held.

Ill-fitting, as usual. Spartan, to be specific. The crisp gold, velveteen blue and name plaque were merely reminders that this is the office of a naval officer and not a pirate's scruffy lair of stolen goods.

Behind the man was a ceiling to floor, curtain-less window. Outside the spotless glass panes was a backdrop of another visiting tempest, untimely and aggravating.

Just like the order from the Admiral that was brought down this morning.

The order that was duly  _signed_ , neatly  _sealed_  and promptly-

The folded paper that bore the red wax stamp of the Royal court emblem lay untouched on top of his desk.

- _delivered_.

Kurosaki knew –oh,  _how could he not know_? Ishida never expected himself to be the bearer of such dreadful news and his expression –the pursed lips, the sharper than usual gleam in his eyes- said it all.

Kurosaki was yet to say something about it.

After all the five years Ishida spent working alongside him, he still doesn't know what to make of Ichigo Kurosaki.

They regarded him as imposing and callous. They say he's too young to be an admiral, but he's well on his way. Some say he does not fit the stereotypical naval soldier. When he was appointed captain, some said he should be stripped off the title.

Kurosaki was not just a normal soldier, not just a periwig-donning, rifle-wielding, dispensable soldier in tights, because he  _dared_. He had his wins against pirates, numerous kills and numerous ships destroyed. He would run straight to a burning ship to rescue a little girl, when no one would. When his fellow soldier would rather enrapture themselves in brothels and excessive rum, he would engross himself in practicing.

Then he was made a commodore first class. For four years, he ran the office and held the title.

The fortifications of the best naval army in the world have always been striking and intimidating. The monument itself is already a statement; it went under many sieges and survived. Its walls, blackened by stained ashes of fire, fire from various attempts of take-down yet it stood, calloused and valiant in the dockyard amidst the sea –in plain sight, an apt warning to the evil-doers that dare approach the shoreline. Merely meters from the busy port, the decaying limp corpses hung like seashell wind chimes, a stark reminder for people daring to attempt malicious pursuit.

Under Ichigo Kurosaki, the fortress became synonymous with impenetrable.

Kurosaki could give the orders and have it restored to its prime beauty like the rest of its sister ports. But he opted not to. Ishida suspected it as a demonstration of his strength.

Still, the lone word to describe him was simply elusive.

Ichigo Kurosaki sat and waited uncomplainingly for Ishida to start voicing his concern –a feat he can only accomplish when boredom settled in him.

Ichigo tried not to grin when he saw Ishida's minute reaction to the served Cardamom tea, never his favorite. And he made sure of its preparation just to  _piss off_  the bespectacled.

Few moments passed, the softly painted sea mural and gold frames adorning his office walls started to wear his eyes.  _Tap. Tap_. It had been too long ever since he set sail.  _Tap. Tap_. He's a commodore first class.  _Tap. Tap_.

"Stop that, Kurosaki." Ishida spoke in his usual dry and disinterested tone but he detected a hint of rippling in his own undertone.

 _Tap. Tap_.

"…what?" Ichigo turned his head from the dramatic dark coloring of a destroyed warship amidst a heavy storm mural to Ishida, who obviously did not bother to hide his irritation.

Ishida glanced at Kurosaki's boot clad legs crossed atop his gold-plated desk, tapping the globe that detailed the explored world carelessly with his foot.

" _That_."

 _Tap. Tap_. The globe fell with an inaudible thud in the blue carpet. The outline of Atlantic Ocean settled in Ishida's direction. The Gothic letters that represent the large body of ocean gleamed in black against the burnt beige.

The Atlantic Ocean, this man's destination.

"Have you been studying it?" Ishida asked carefully, sipping his tea, trying not to grimace.

Ichigo looked at him, head tilted. "No."

"I see." Ishida carefully settled the teacup down, he would never trust Kurosaki to correctly guess his preference.

Seemingly uninterested in any sort of conversation, Kurosaki angled his chair and went back into staring broodingly at the sea, not the mural, but the actual raging sea. He'd be always drawn to it.

Kurosaki's story, even though that of success, is common. A story he shared with others. They live in seashore, most of the citizens came from shipwrecks, rescued. Kurosaki was one of them. The man fought misfortune. He was washed ashore, parents not known, raised by an illegal merchant, enlisted in the army, transferred to the Royal Navy, promoted to a captain, now a commodore first class sitting in a grandiose office that does not suit his personal style.

Somehow, the brutal and loud beating irritated Ichigo more than the actual sight. Unable to stand the sound, he angled his chair away from the windows and finally focused on the man sitting in front of his desk. In his office. On Ishida. On the blue frock coat lined with gold laces that he man wore.

On the  _new_  insignia on Ishida's  _new_  uniform.

Ichigo knew Ishida was his replacement.

Because he, Kurosaki Ichigo, sunk a total of thirty-eight private ships all engaged in chattel slavery –or simply slave trade- only in the past month. There were others before that.

Naturally, he was called for a reprimand, partly because it was unusual for a commodore to fire at trade ships doing business, and mostly because the trade owner of the ships happened to be the nephew of the Marquis.

He was called under the guise of extending beyond his jurisdiction. His ship was well situated inside the jurisdiction line, he made sure of it. But his cannon trajectories weren't.

 _They were trying to sail out without proper identification and they refuse to answer to me_. Ichigo's primary defense when he was brought in for questioning. After the proceedings, he realized,  _permits and identifications_. Of course, the idea is ludicrous. The only permit needed was the verbal mention of name of the trade owner alongside his uncle's title. Ichigo remembered the smirking trade owner was at the back of the room, the portly man with an ash-colored periwig was comfortably seated with a glass of dark amber Madeira, surrounded by gold leaf furnishings.  _Slainte_ , he said.

It was a 'questionable action done by a high commanding officer' the inquisitor's answer. Ichigo already knew what it meant.

 _Questionable_. Probably because the loss of thirty-eight slave trade ships became a serious toll and as a result, the trade owner couldn't finish the funding for his seventh seaside grand villa.

And the unfinished grand villa ultimately bought Ishida here to replace him as a commodore first class.

Uryū Ishida was formerly a commodore second class.

All done in an underhanded way. They will send him to a mission, sail away in an ocean, and then certain things will happen. An accident or ambush? Ichigo could already guess.

But Kurosaki Ichigo didn't care.

Because he shouldn't be here.  _Not today_. In fact, not even tomorrow. Or the next month. Or even in the next few years. And definitely not in the next decade.

Because he, in service of the navy for so many years, was already planning defection.

"I know."

 _What_?

"I know, Kurosaki. Do you really think otherwise?" Ishida gloated knowingly.

"What?" The commodore tensed, there was an ugly flush of dread in his chest. How could he have known?

"That…" Ishida paused, enjoying Kurosaki's discomfort. "Shall we say…little boat hidden in cave, unregistered. Where are you going?" there was a little more emphasis on his question.

By 'little' he meant a large ship. Kurosaki commissioned it secretly from his trusted shipwrights.

"I had a short conversation from your shipwrights. They weren't very secretive at all." Ishida added coolly.

"Because you have plenty of shillings?" Ichigo snapped. He bluntly ignored Ishida's question.

"Yes."

Ichigo inwardly winced and mentally berated himself. He had the skill, he should have built his own-

"One of his daughters was sick, I say it was a smart choice."

Ichigo slumped back in his chair. He understood.

"I knew you were going to do it." To Ishida, it didn't come as a shock. There was

"I always knew you were going to do it. I was just wondering when."

Ishida casually picked up his tea once more. Ichigo wondered if he should overpower Ishida and leave right now.  _Did he tell anyone_?

"The look on your face,  _you're fed up_." Ishida looked at him gravely. "And no, I didn't tell them. No one is going to arrest you." Kurosaki's expression alone asked his question already.

Somehow, Ichigo believed him. He and Ishida weren't exactly friends. They don't talk much. He kept to himself and brood while Ishida locked himself in his study during their free times. But he knew Ishida, too, disliked the trade as much as he did. He was just  _bolder_  about it, while Ishida resorted to paperwork and proposal that the both them knew won't go anywhere except the fire.

Maybe, if Ishida were to replace him, he would have more voice. Ichigo didn't really mind.

"So Kurosaki, where  _exactly_  are you going?"

… **0…**

.

.

.

 _No light can reach this place,_  he thought.

 _It was so silent_ , he thought.

 _The increasing pressure should have crushed him to death_ , he thought.

The deep sea never held his curiosity. What he cared is the surface –on how to stay in the surface and breathe.  _Alive and breathing_. Above water, the sound of splashing wave hitting his ship is like a musician's muse. The sea mist and cool wind, to him, is a French perfumer's best blend. The panoramas, strong and poignant like a dying Renaissance painter's last work. He adored the world above water, there is honest passion there. His mastery of the open waters, as pointed out by his deceased crew and subordinates, came out smooth and effortless –a talent even. The ability to precisely predict the wind's direction, avoid sea wave hard spots and maneuver in rocky patches became his flair.

His talent for the above waters came in natural but his affinity to the sea underworld stayed in the minimum.

Here. In the deep sea. Sightlessness is the King. Silence is the Queen. Fear is the Prince. Hopelessness is the Knight. Derangement is the Advisor. Paralysis is the Cotillion. Nothing is the Kingdom.

It wasn't stunning, simply because it is too dark his eyes might not be open at all. It was bleak. Not a trace of light permeated this part of the seafloor, not a semblance of slightest movement – _it's a strange world_.

Too much of a strange world, he didn't know where the boundary between reality and fantasy rest. Too much of isolation, he doubted his very existence.

His death wasn't poetic, but a pitiful, slow lurch towards the next misery steered by a pretty monster, and it coxed something in him. He realized that, even in the supposed end of his time, the bow before the curtain closure, he didn't do much in life. Chattel slavery continued to thrive, his crew, all of them dead. He discovered no land. He left no legacy.

This part of the underwater marred most of his senses but he he's quite aware of his spatial movement. He knew he was moving downwards. Downwards. There are horrors, and these are horrors conjured by his mind, nothing is scarier. And it can only become scarier every depth he reach.

The pressure was oppressive, the currents grounded him into a petrified and motionless state yet it wasn't trying to rip him apart, it surrounded him, like probing an unfamiliar guest. Somehow the feel of pressure on his shoulders stayed firm and pushing –his supposed killer's hands, it was disturbingly different from the stronger one that surrounded him. Its presence firmly in his shoulder disturbed him so much that he felt the need to move.

He raised his arm, or at least, in his mind, he didn't know if the movement was real or not. Real or not, surprisingly, the current felt like breeze in his fingertips, like the river parting for stones. His arms flailed, moved with blind direction and seek the hand in his shoulder. After initial difficulty, he finally clasped the hand on his shoulder. He held on to it with a grip as tight as a vice, like a child afraid to be lost in a bustling market, but then, he was lost already. The hand did not flinch, it stayed where it was and Ichigo was grateful.

Even if her existence is repulsive in its beauty, at least he's not alone.

… **0…**

It's the lack of sound that will lead to his eventual derangement sooner.

He knew that as he plummeted down the limbo of mental detachment and seclusion, until he heard the faint sloshing of water near his right ear and felt the absence of the oppressive water pressure.

 _Strangely_...

He stirred, not awake yet not asleep, the feel of which was becoming familiar, uncomfortably so. Senses are returning to his body fast as well as awareness. There is scorching coldness beneath him and it felt horribly real.

He was lying flat on his back, he felt the unexplainable, slow course of heat on his limbs and soon, the strong and slow beating of his heart rang in his own ear. His hands clenched and unclenched, simple movements reserved for the living -he knew, without a doubt that he's alive.

This is, all of these, in a very strange way, felt revitalizing.

Revitalizing. It was rightfully odd, so odd that it made him repetitively wonder if this was actually real.

Ichigo didn't understand, he should have drowned, he should have died. He was waiting for it, he accepted it.

Ichigo slowly opened his eyes.

The darkness was expected but it was the presence of air that baffled him more, the unrestrained rise and fall of his chest in a pressure-less area. The suffocation was not present –but then, it was never present even as she dragged him-!

- _the mermaid_.

His heart lurched, wildly unpleasant, he realized that he might still be in the presence of mermaid. Ichigo sat up, and irately looked around, his eyes trying to seek out the monster. An unintentional groan escaped him, the muscles kinks in his neck persisted and he felt a sharp, widespread pain from the sudden movement.

All his clothing except for strangely, his boots, have been destroyed or ripped. He retained a little modesty though, his trousers. His boots miraculously survived the pressure, he could feel it securely fastened to his feet. It was almost comical if only he does not have more pressing issue to ponder.

And at the right side, lower region of his body to where his boots were, his still-adjusting eyes saw a familiar silhouette, the form he was struggling to see.

"You…" He rasped, his eyes intent on the half-immersed mermaid.

At the sound of his voice, she looked up. Her eyes were bright and fierce. She stared unblinkingly at him. Her loose braid was on one side with one stubborn bang between her eyes, just like how he remembered her. Human skin glistened with thin slick of sheen until her narrow waist, where the skin continued with luminescent white fleck of scales until it disappeared into the water.

Strangely, her violet eyes rivaled the soft glow of bluish light beneath her.

Confused, he peered in the water, where half of her body was immersed and wondered how could that happen? The metallic colors of her fin reflected the bluish glow beneath her and the light illuminated the small cave and it did little to help his gradually adjusting sight.

It was small, uncomfortably small he could only sit or lie down. This cave was lined with thin ice. Overhead him were small but sharp icicles. Beside him, merely inches, was the water.

So Ichigo stayed still in his position, muscles achingly stiff with the cold and his elbow burned with the ice contact. His mind, however, had more trouble comprehending the scenario than his body trying to physically adjust.

Without a trace of slightest concern in his reaction or his undress state, her head turned back to his boots. And his boots, it seemed that, became the object of interest of the mermaid. She wasn't smiling, there was only furrowing of her thin eyebrows and her eyes displayed odd interest in his boots. She kept her fingers at the edge of the ice shelf.

"Mermaid, where am I?"

The mermaid ignored him and continued to examine his boots.

"Can you understand me?" he asked, in plain frustration. She looked at him, and tilted her head in what looked like an expression of confusion.

"Answer me!" Ichigo did not mean to raise his voice, it was  _simply_  out of frustration.

However, it did not affect the mermaid as she continued to gaze at him with an odd expression. Then went back to stare intently at his boots.

He sat up suddenly, and accidentally scrapped his head on the sharp icicles. A frustrated growl and a rude swear escaped his lips, and a slow trickle of blood flowed from his forehead to his chin. The mermaid stared at it.

Ichigo tensed, "What? Are you going to do something now?" he asked, in a low voice.

She suddenly turned away. And to add to his frustration, her gaze went back to his damn boots.

It was clear that she had no intention of devouring him.

"You want it?" He snarled. He doesn't know if it's the shoes or the legs she wanted. " _Here_." He unstrapped it, pulled it out of his feet. While the mermaid watched him curiously. Then he placed them in front of her. As expected, her attention went to the leather.

Ichigo slumped back. It was either out of pure insanity or twisted brilliance that Ichigo contemplated if he could somehow escape this bizarre encounter. It is a cave –arguably a rock cave covered in thin ice- he must be in a rocky landscape. Rocky landscape must mean an island.

 _But then_ …What if it didn't work?  _But then again_ , he had always been reckless, a do or die man. This was nothing.

Beneath the water, he could follow the trail of blue light and find his way out, while her attention was solely on his boots.

He held his breath and rolled over, directly to the freezing water. Whatever splash he might have created remained unheard as he kicked off and swam blindly, extending his arms to presage him of his surroundings, the glowing lights were around him. He's a man of the sea, he could swim fast. And so he did, his legs kicked harder and faster, the limitation of air in his lungs was another looming worry. He did not mind the pressure as he fought his way, it was everywhere but not as oppressive as he remembered.

There was a brutal urgency bubbling in his chest as the need to get away from the mermaid took precedence. He instinctively swam upwards, and what he saw startled him.

Around him was an array of lights.

Individual lights in various colors and shapes, moving in random directions. He expected to see seaweeds, clustered fishes and corals but there was none. There was no visible depth underneath him. The trail of individual lights was unending, beneath him above him, and as far as he could see.

His legs stopped. His head tilted, curious with the strange luminance. This was a very extraordinary view, unheard and unknown to any man. They emit a collective glow, of the blue spectrum, of the brightest dots and lights in diverse swirls and circles. It was a muted dance, a disorganized cotillion. Some move in rapid tempo, jutting from one place to another. Others are slower, sedated and sluggish.

And yet, the water surrounding was just as pitch black as the one he remembered being dragged down to.

Ichigo only glided, lost, he does not know where to swim.

The realization just as when he felt something brushed his arms and saw the mermaid caught up to him, effortlessly so. She swam around him in graceful glides, turns and twirls. She was willowy under water despite her petite form, her tails's tendrils floated around her, and the loose braid that kept her black hair in one side became unfastened and its loose locks framed her face. She was ethereal amidst the bluish lights. She eyed him inquisitively.

Ichigo was caught off-guard.

But then, clasped firmly in her left hand, was his boots.

Stricken with alarm, the former commodore tried to move upwards. The mermaid stopped circling him and watched him with interest.

The pitch black water and lights remained interminable, so was his path.  _It was not visible, no route of escape._

Ichigo pushed himself upwards, the water wasn't against him. He could go on until he reached the surface.

_The idea of escape was a temporary streak of hope –or optimism._

His legs are strong, he can do it. His arms are strong, he can do it. But then again, some part of his brain said it is futile. He looked down, the mermaid was still there, she continued to watch him with interest. She did not move.

_There was really none._

The mermaid watched in him leisure, followed him upwards listlessly. She knew there was no escape for him, displayed so clearly when she let him paddle upwards helplessly. She could catch him as easily.

Ichigo stopped. He stayed suspended, amidst the black and swirling lights and hushed sound. He watched the mermaid watch him from beneath.

 _Is this your world_?

The mermaid frowned again. As if she heard his thoughts.

Curiously, her head tilted to one side.

For one wild moment, he thought,  _should he fight her_? What would happen to him then?

His large frame could match her willowy one. But it was not the size that will determine his survival; his legs are no match for her fins. He was submerged and directionless. And the air, his breathing-

 _His breathing_ -

It was then that he sudden realized an important detail, and it overwhelmed him. He traced his neck, his airway.

He was not breathing nor was he drowning.

There's no rise and fall in his chest like the generally taught physiology of breathing. The pressure was as not as oppressive like what he initially felt, now they welcomed him. Just like how they surround the mermaid.

Ichigo clutched his neck,  _what was it? Why is he like this_?

Ichigo was too preoccupied that he did not notice the mermaid slowly glided upwards to where he was. The boots clasped firmly in her left hand.

Ichigo felt the cold fingers of the mermaid gently touched his elbow. She tugged his elbow downwards, back to the pitch-black chasm. He resisted. He saw her attractive visage peered up at him, probing his features.

He couldn't think straight, many, many thoughts overwhelmed him. But the mermaid was persistent, her fingers slid to his hand and grasped it firmly, haphazard and awkward, not the way a lover would interlock his lover's hand. Still, Ichigo resisted.

 _What do you want_?

She frowned at him, and tugged harder.

 _No_.

She tugged harder, then abruptly stopped. She glided around him, graceful yet furious. Her tendrils brushed against his body, as soft as gossamer silk. The blinking lights were still around them, and he caught sight of her face, she was truly annoyed.

 _What do you want_?

He never imagined himself in such situation. In a dark water with nothing but unusual, flashing lights, and his existence in question, the primary method of living as a human in question.

The mermaid stopped gliding, turned to face him. She put her fingers on his chest, then upwards towards his throat, then a finger to his lower lip. Her face was just mere inches from his face.

He knew she wanted to tell him something imperative.

When she grasped his hand and tugged him downwards back to the chasm, he gave in and let her.

.

.

.

… **o0o…**

"How is this…?"

There is a large shipwreck  _and_  a waterfall inside this underwater cave.

He thought the small cave back was nothing but a simple chance –a hidden freak of nature; this, however, is complete anomaly.

Ichigo stood in the slippery, flat surface, an inch of cold water hitting his heel repetitively. He doubted his ability to stand, for a moment, the unknown hours he spent submerged altered his sense of mobility and yet he stood straight, his leg muscles flexing with a newfound strength. He could see, albeit limited, remarkable silhouettes.

There is a shipwreck. A shipwreck. In here. His heart was beating rapidly, with curiosity, with awe, with surprise and most importantly, with apprehension. He took one uncertain step forward and the slosh of water echoed loudly around him. He breathed in. The air felt cool and stale, he could smell moss and musty wood –the shipwreck's.

The cave itself is not fully submerged. He didn't know how or what, but whatever it is, it was strong enough to effectively keep water from submerging it.

Beneath his sole was a combination of sand and concrete, smooth surface. His dilated eyes tried to reach farther, see beyond the dark silhouette of the ship. He took another step, surer this time.

There are weeds, thin vines and utter absurdity. This cave is massive, has the signs of the Earth above water: once a living, tropical terrain. The sand is still here, though very scant. It's a mixed wreck of various objects, there are fissured stratums and though small, there are small flat stones with concentric circles one inside the other drawn prominently in its surface. Ichigo saw this sign before.

The shipwreck didn't look like it came from the waters; it looked like it  _fell_  as it was smashed into two halves. The other half was tucked in a large boulder.

Nobody could survive that.

"Nobody could survive that."

 _Yet_ , the three decks exposed were clearly inhabited even after it was smashed. The other half was facing him, with ladders protruding outward and dusty, patched-up curtains dividing the quarters. Wooden chairs, desks and barrels were also positioned outside.

Somebody lived here. Of human origin, Ichigo was certain, because they left the captain's log on one of the desk.

He looked back at the mermaid to see her crawling beside what looked like a destroyed column one would find in a ruined Greek acropolis. She was silent and staring at him intently, her eyes glowed brightly at  _him_. Then, she pushed the boots towards him. And her thin eyebrows furrowed when he stood there, agape at her.

The mermaid pushed it further towards him, as far as her arms could reach.

Hey eyes glowered at him, as if willing him to put his shoes back on.

Ichigo sauntered towards the boots and picked it up gingerly. She kept it so that he could comfortably walk on land,  _again_ , because she meant to bring him here.

**…o0O0o…**

_To be continued_


End file.
